


with sightless glare and lips struck dumb

by etoilette



Series: AU-gust 2020 [10]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bondage, Figging, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilette/pseuds/etoilette
Summary: “Stop touching me, you pervert,” Akechi hisses. “I’ll kill you.”Akira ignores the empty threat. “I thought the navy would’ve broken you in by now. Isn’t this just another day in the army, Commander Akechi?”“Don’t be fucking crass.”ORCommander Akechi's been a prisoner on the pirate shipPhantom Thieffor the past month or so now, and he refuses to talk, despite the constant interrogations and torture. Captain Akira decides to take charge.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: AU-gust 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860436
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95





	with sightless glare and lips struck dumb

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day #10 of AU-gust: Pirate AU!
> 
> They say that Chinese pirates really did have ginger on board to prevent scurvy, like how English sailors kept oranges. I don't know if pirate saliva is necessarily a good antidote for it but >:3c

When Akira sees Ann emerge from the hold of the _Phantom Thief_ with the tray of food still completely untouched, he can’t help but heave out an annoyed sigh.

“He’s still not eating?” 

Ann shakes her head, her bright blue eyes clouded with worry as she glances back behind her, as if she could still see the marine they caught despite him being locked away in the brig, deep in the belly of the ship. 

“It’s been days since the last time he ate anything other than a bit of soup,” Ann says. She stomps a boot against the deck. “Coward. He must be trying to avoid giving up any information about the marines’ movements and internal workings, but that doesn’t mean he should…”

She trails off, looking to the side guiltily, as if just remembering that as part of the crew of the _Phantom Thief_ , she would be complicit in the marine’s death. Akira walks forward and takes the tray from her, nudging her shoulder gently with his own. 

“Take a break. Spend the day with Mona, if you want. You deserve it after dealing with that officer.”

Ann shakes her head fiercely. “Stop treating me like I’m still just a clueless bar wench. I can do my job, Captain. I’ll be on look-out; Makoto needs to be relieved.”

Akira watches as she stomps away towards the crow’s nest and huffs out a faint laugh of affection. She’s one of the more valuable members of the _Phantom Thief_ crew, but he still can’t shake the image of how she had looked, trembling with suppressed rage and anxiety, while being felt up at a tavern they had stopped at several months past. It's hard to think of her as someone who no longer needed protection, as if Akira was her father rather than her boss.

He had thought that her empathetic nature and friendly personality would be enough to lower the guard of the pesky marine they managed to capture during the last battle, but he supposes that someone who could be won over by a bright smile and a pretty face would not have been a commander of the H.M.S. _Robin Hood._

Balancing the tray in one hand, he pushes open the door leading into the inside of the ship and walks down until he reaches the brig. Cold, damp, and silent outside of the roar of the ocean, it’s somewhere that had been generally unused outside of when they needed to store supplies - the _Phantom Thief_ pirates aren’t known for taking prisoners. Until recently. 

Tied to the wall of the ship through manacles clasped onto each of his bare ankles, Commander Akechi Goro sits cross-legged, eyes closed, as if imagining himself elsewhere would really transport him out of his current situation. His hands, tied together at the wrists, are resting in his lap, and Akira can see his fingers moving slightly, as if he was playing a piano piece in the air. Dressed in loose grey prisoner garb, one would be hard-pressed to believe that he was one of the Royal Navy’s finest officers and soldiers.

Bruises from yesterday’s interrogation session still mar his cheeks and chiseled chest, and his fingers are still bleeding sluggishly from the day before yesterday, when Makoto had ripped out the nails on his right hand in an attempt to get him to spill on the Marines’ movements and internal workings. 

Akira hadn’t been there for that session, but from Ryuji and Makoto’s frustrated complaints during breakfast this morning, he could assume that Akechi still gave nothing beyond his name and rank. 

He looks visibly much more gaunt than when he was first captured though. The gag stuffed into his mouth to prevent him from biting down on his tongue cut cruelly into his cheeks when they first attached it onto him, but he can see it loose now. The lack of food is definitely taking its toll on him, and Akira legitimately worries that he would walk in to see a corpse sometime this week if he isn’t able to get some food into him now. 

“I hear from Ann that you aren’t big on our food,” he calls out and notes from the sharp jerking of Akechi’s shoulders that he really hadn’t noticed him walking in. “That’s a shame; Haru is really good at cooking.”

Akechi doesn’t say anything - can’t anyway, through the gag - but he glares up at Akira with sharp red eyes. Akira opens the door into the cell and sets the tray down next to the open entrance, knowing that if he got too close with it, Akechi might try to knock everything to the ground. 

Not that it wouldn’t be amusing to force Akechi’s head down onto the wood of the brig floor and force him to lap everything up like a dog, but with supplies starting to dwindle, he would much prefer it if no food was wasted during this visit.

“I’m going to take off your gag,” Akira says softly, telegraphing each movement. He can see Akechi’s eyes sluggishly follow him as he walks towards the prisoner. “I’m going to ask you for information and then I’ll give you some food.”

Akechi doesn’t react beyond a slow blink, and Akira reaches out cautiously to remove the belt from around Akechi’s face. The first time he did so, Akechi snapped at him and almost bit off his finger, but now Akechi just lets out a breath. Akira looks at the swollen lips, the red of the tongue, and turns away with a soft cough. 

“I’ll give you the food now, okay?”

“Fuck you.”

The voice is raspy, from disuse and dehydration and screaming, but there is still a violent and hateful bite to it. The dull light in Akechi’s eyes seemed to have lifted along with the gag, and he is glaring up at Akira now, his teeth bared like a feral animal. 

“You have another fucking thing coming if you think that I’m going to say anything to you filthy pirates,” Akechi snaps, though the ferocity behind his words are dulled somewhat with how dry and hoarse he sounds.

“I’m not asking you to talk,” Akira says, though he mentally tacks on a _yet_ at the end of that. “I’m just asking you to eat.”

“I don’t need your goddamn charity!” Akechi leans forward onto his hands and knees, and he seems to be trying to push himself up, as if he planned on rushing Akira right that second. His limbs are shaking so much that he can hardly get his feet under himself though, and even if he could, he was chained to the wall so closely that he probably wouldn’t be able to take two steps before being pulled back by his restraints.

Akira can’t help but chuckle, and he can see insulted affront in Akechi’s face when he looks up at him. “You’d make a good pirate, Captain Akechi. Instead of asking you to give us information, what would you say if I invited you to join my crew?”

Akechi makes a disapproving sound - a mix between a growl and a huff that’s not so dissimilar from the ones that Makoto makes when she hears a particularly stupid plan or joke - and shakes his head furiously. “I’d say go screw yourself, you piece of shit.”

When Akechi first was tossed into the brig, he held himself with a sort of elegant composure, his words biting but polite, as if he was at a nemesis’s tea party rather than in the belly of the beast. Akira had left the majority of the interrogation to Makoto after the first few days, and so he isn’t one hundred percent sure as to whether this is Akechi’s true personality underneath that stiff veneer, or if this was some sort of mental breakdown.

Akira hopes, with a lick of his lips, that it’s the former.

Instead of saying anything to that, he takes the tray and slides it towards Akechi, who has given up on struggling to stand up and is just sitting there, legs splayed out next to him as he catches his breath. 

“Eat up. You’ll need your energy for today.”

“What. Are you going to torture me too? Like that short-haired girl and that blonde idiot?” Akechi laughs, the sound grating with how broken his voice is. “Those two couldn’t get anything out of me for _days_. What makes you think you would be able to?”

Akira shrugs. “I’m the captain. Eat your food before I shove your face into it and make you eat it like a dog.”

Akechi looks up at him and shakes his head with thinly-veiled disgust. He gives the tray a considering one-over - a bowl of soup, a small loaf of bread, a glass of water, and a skinned ginger to ward off scurvy - before he reaches out with his shaking bound hands and smacks them as hard as he could against the glass of water. 

It’s an immediate disaster. The water tips over, hitting the rim of the bowl, which slants and allows the soup to leak out. The water and soup mix together into a pale puddle on the tray, soaking the bread. The only thing mildly safe and still palatable is the ginger, held in a little bowl to prevent it from touching the tray directly.

It takes Akira two steps to reach Akechi and backhand him across the face, the blow so hard on the weakened marine that he falls face-first onto the ground. He coughs softly, but Akira doesn’t care about that, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Akechi’s long greasy hair. The leather of Akira’s gloves must be uncomfortable, and in the brief second where Akira lifts his head before slamming it back down into the tray, he could see Akechi’s bloody face twisted in an expression of pain.

Akechi’s face is pressed against the tray, right into where the diluted soup is gathering on it, and Akira commands coldly, “Drink that up.”

Akechi struggles as best as he can and Akira belatedly realizes that with the soup in a lake like this, he isn’t able to tell if and when Akechi starts drinking it. With a click of his tongue, he forces Akechi’s head up again, noting distantly that even with watered-down soup and bits of vegetables sticking to his face, he’s still pretty. 

He works off a hunk of bread and holds it in the palm of his hand, shoving it into Akechi’s mouth when he uses the brief second of freedom to breathe. It feels not unlike trying to feed an apple to a horse, though most horses don’t require Akira to keep his hand firmly on their lips, in case they try to spit out the food.

After a few seconds of furiously holding Akechi’s face, he finally sees his Adam’s apple bob up and down in a swallow. Akira slowly lets him go. Akechi’s face is a sight to behold, flushed with anger and lack of oxygen.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Akira asks as genuinely as he can, not wanting Akechi to think he was mocking him too much.

In response, Akechi spits at Akira’s face, the glob of saliva landing squarely on Akira’s cheek.

It takes a second for Akira to realize just _what_ happened, and he slowly reaches up to wipe it away with one gloved hand. There is a look of vindictive victory in Akechi’s eyes and smirk. It’s an expression that Akira desperately wants to break.

He doesn’t let his anger show on his face. Instead, he shoots Akechi an easy grin, as if they were friends joshing around. His attempt at looking disarming must not have worked, because Akechi tenses up.

No use hiding it, then.

In a fluid motion, he reaches out and shoves Akechi to the ground onto his back, ignoring the furious screech that the marine lets out at the action. Without giving him a chance to recover, he grabs Akechi’s legs and spreads them out as far as they can go. Akechi tries to struggle against Akira’s grip but he holds tight; Akechi’s muscles are so atrophied that it’s like holding down a wet kitten, and Akira presses down even harder in retaliation for the defiance.

It’s admittedly hard to attach the manacle around each ankle to the hooks built in the wall for prisoners, but Akira manages. The sound of the lock clicking shut around the chain echoes even over the waves outside, and he steps back to admire the view.

On his back like a beached turtle, with his legs tied so that he couldn’t even bend his knees, Akira had an unobstructed view of Akechi’s lower body. He can see the bulge pressing against the loose cloth underwear - the only thing they’ve allowed him to change every day ever since they stripped him of his uniform - and he reaches out with a hand to caress Akechi’s buttocks lightly, relishing in the full-body shudder.

“Stop touching me, you pervert,” Akechi hisses. “I’ll kill you.”

Akira ignores the empty threat. “I thought the navy would’ve broken you in by now. Isn’t this just another day in the army, Commander Akechi?”

“Don’t be fucking crass.”

The gentle touch turns into a stinging slap and Akechi yelps at the sudden pain. “It’s cute that you think you have any say right now, _prisoner_. Since you couldn’t even eat your food like a good dog, I suppose I could start with today’s interrogation.”

Without looking, Akira reaches behind him and holds up the sliced up ginger. Haru usually skins them and cuts them into a stick-like shape for easy eating, and Akira would be lying if he says he’s never been interested in using ginger in ways other than fighting off scurvy.

There’s no lube but Akira supposes that he could return the favour. He gathers saliva in his mouth as he reaches into his belt with his free hand and takes out his trusty knife. For a second he presses the blade against Akechi’s thigh, savouring in the feared anticipation in Akechi’s gaze, before he uses the knife to slice up Akechi’s underwear, revealing his flaccid cock and puckered anus.

For good measure, he runs the ginger up and down Akechi’s shaft, paying special interest to the head, and he sees Akechi’s dick start to fill almost immediately. It has been almost a month since Akechi’s capture, and he doubts that Akechi got the opportunity to touch himself during all that time. 

“What are you doing?” Akechi asks, and Akira feels his own dick stir with interest at the sharp fear in Akechi’s voice. “W-wh…”

In lieu of answering, Akira opens his mouth and allows the collected spit to drip onto Akechi’s hole. He can see it twitch and tighten, as if trying to hide from the sudden warm wetness, and he laughs, not even hiding the mocking tone in it.

“It’s your lunch, Akechi. Open wide,” is all Akira says as a warning before he’s shoving the ginger in, uncaring of the immediate resistance from the rim. 

Akechi shrieks with the pain of the forced intrusion, struggling so much that Akira has to use both hands to grasp onto his thighs in case he accidentally dislocates or breaks something. The ginger is only halfway in, and probably hasn’t taken effect yet, so Akira uses his knee to push it in the rest of the way through. 

By the time he finishes and pulls back, he can see only the barest of yellow sticking out from Akechi’s ass, looking for all the world like he was in the middle of something else. It’s a disgusting thought, and Akira stomps it out. It would be hard to pull it out again without potentially causing damage to the rim, but Akira doesn’t care.

“It’s all in,” Akira says breathlessly. Akechi’s eyes are gazing up sightlessly as he pants, trembling and shaking with the pain. He isn’t sure if Akechi could hear him, so he leans down until his mouth is next to Akechi’s ear and whispers straight into it, “Your hole ate it up so greedily.”

He normally doesn’t allow himself to get too close to Akechi’s face at all, because the one time he did, Akechi almost bit his nose off. Somehow he doesn’t think that Akechi would have the mental capacity to do anything like that for today’s interrogation session though.

Pressed as close to Akechi as he is, Akira can feel exactly when it starts. Akechi lets out a choked whimper that devolves into a high-pitched keen, and he starts to buck, arching his back so high that Akira almost gets knocked off. 

“St-stop,” Akechi chokes out before he lets out a sharp and strangled scream, throwing his head back and reaching out as if he wants to beat his bound hands against Akira’s chest. Akira immediately grabs it and holds it tight, pressing his body weight even harder on Akechi so that the weakened officer couldn’t even move properly against the maddening heat and irritation in his ass. “Please make it stop,” he sobs and Akira watches with amazement as tears actually start to well up in his eyes, flowing down his cheeks in fat and fast streams.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Akechi cry in all his time here, no matter what kinds of torture is done to his body or his mind. The realization of it makes the heat in his body reach a crescendo, and he pulls away briefly just so he can pull his own pants down, his cock springing free already fully erect.

Akira wastes no time in returning to his position on top of Akechi’s body, rutting against Akechi’s inner thigh and making sure to steer clear of his anus. Akechi _can’t stay still_. Even against Akira’s hold, even against the shackles holding him in place, he struggles like a bucking horse. Wild and feral, it’s like he doesn’t even care about potentially injuring himself as he twists and convulses. 

If Akira wasn’t keeping him pinned down, Akechi probably would’ve broken his own body by now.

Panting excitedly into Akechi’s ear, though it’s doubtful that he can hear anything beyond his own screaming and begging, Akira manages to get a grip around the slimy ginger, pulling it out as slowly as possible. The outside of the root is glistening, shiny from Akechi’s juices, and Akira’s mouth waters despite himself.

“How are you enjoying your meal, Akechi?” he says, his own voice as hoarse as Akechi’s from arousal. “Does it taste better than the soup and the bread?”

Akechi’s only response is a murmur that could have been a “stop” or a “no.” 

He tugs on the ginger until it’s almost completely out, watching interestedly as Akechi’s hole clenches as if asking to be filled again. He shoves it back in as deep as he can, never letting go of the ginger lest it ends up too deep inside the prisoner. There is no real change to Akechi’s reactions, the sensation so much that Akechi doesn’t even seem to notice when he’s full and when he’s empty. 

Akechi’s dick is rock-hard, purplish-red and throbbing, and it looks like he’s in physical pain from how aroused he is. The cock is leaking white-tinged pre-cum onto Akechi’s stomach, and Akira knows that his own shirt must be tacky with it from when he was holding down Akechi earlier. Making sure it’s the glove that’s covered with ginger juices, he reaches out and strokes it, ignoring the way that Akechi arches his back again. 

The commander seems so lost that he doesn’t even seem to be able to form words or sounds anymore, letting out soft moans and shrill gasps like an animal in heat. It seems as good a chance as any to do something that Akira’s been wanting to do for a long time now, but never was able to without fear of losing something.

He stands up and lets go of Akechi’s erect penis, allowing himself the luxury of looking at Akechi twisting and trembling, his body too weak to struggle as much as he probably wants to from the irritating heat eating him inside and out. His eyes are rolled back, staring at nothing. His face is a mess of tears, sweat, and saliva leaking from his open mouthing mouth.

“Not so pretty now, Commander,” Akira teases before settling his weight back down on Akechi’s chest, uncaring of how he’s crushing Akechi’s arms under his body. Reaching back with an arm, he grabs Akechi’s dick once more and he uses his free arm to take hold of his own, pumping both at the same rhythm, grinning when a high-pitched breath escapes Akechi’s mouth at the renewed stimulation. 

Akechi’s mouth has been open since Akira first started figging him, gasping for breath and letting out tired moans of pained pleasure. He takes advantage of this by carefully slotting his erection past Akechi’s lips, just allowing the head to slide into the tight heat. It’s a little dry - it’s little wonder from just how much Akechi’s drooled in the span of a few minutes - but it’s an immediate and sharp pleasure. 

The look of the upstart commander shattered into a disgusting snivelling mess goes right to Akira’s dick. It’s too bad that he can’t fulfill an old fantasy of face-fucking Akechi until he lost his mind with the lack of oxygen, stuffing his cheeks until they were full of Akira’s fat cock and cum, but it’s a start.

He can feel even over the thin leather of his old glove the warm and dribbly stream of Akechi’s ejaculation, but he doesn’t let up, fisting Akechi’s dick at the same furious pace he rubbed at his own shaft, allowing the minute movings of Akechi’s tongue against and under his head to pleasure him. 

The sensation of Akechi’s mouth and his own hand isn’t what pushes him over the edge finally, but rather the view of Akechi, going cross-eyed and slack at the constant overstimulation. He allows half of his cum to dribble down Akechi’s throat before pulling out and allowing it to spray over Akechi’s face.

White paints over Akechi’s flushed skin, on his red lips and tongue, and Akira uses the head of his cock to rub his cum into Akechi’s skin, marking him as _his_.

Standing up on his shaky legs, he backs off, watching as Akechi shivers through the heat in his anus and the lingering pleasure of his orgasm. He reaches down and pulls the ginger out of Akechi’s ass, running the flat head around the rim and watching with delight as Akechi’s anus trembles and tightens. 

He can’t resist leaning forward and placing his mouth on the red and swollen hole, worming his tongue in and allowing his lips to massage around it. It tastes vaguely spicy, no doubt from the ginger, and he can directly feel how puffy the rim is from the irritation. Akechi’s walls twitch and tightens around the probing muscle, squeezing down around it. He allows his saliva to wash out the ginger juices, soothing it as much as he can, before drawing out with a wet _pop_ , wiping his mouth on Akechi’s inner thigh.

“You weren’t too mouthy earlier. Do you feel like talking now?” Akira asks. “Tell me about the marines.”

He isn’t really expecting an answer. Akechi looks blissed out of his mind, fucked completely stupid by the tiny ginger root in Akira’s hand. It takes a few seconds before Akechi’s eyes focus again, his mouth closing and throat working to swallow. 

“Fuck you,” Akechi manages to whisper. His voice is trembling and low with rage, and Akira smirks despite himself. “Fuck you to hell, you goddamn monster.”

“That’s too bad,” Akira sighs, dramatic and theatrical with his disappointment. He takes out his knife and runs the blade lightly against the ginger, skinning off the wet pieces. It would be thinner, but it’s not like it matters when all he needs is the juices underneath it. Akechi’s eyes hone in on the action, and Akira hears the immediate hitch in his breath. 

By his calculation, he could use the same root five more times this night - even more if he decides to use it on the penis only. 

“It really is a shame, Akechi,” Akira continues, kneeling down in between Akechi’s spread legs, allowing his hand to run around the thigh. “I’m more interested in fucking you.”

He doesn’t ask after the marines again, doesn’t give Akechi the chance to try and escape. He simply shoves the thinner ginger back into Akechi’s ass and listens as the imprisoned commander starts to scream and struggle once again.


End file.
